Servant of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  They said their farewells to Sam and Jax then headed back toward the estate. They would be home by dinner time, but neither one was hungry. They had eaten heartily, but the confrontation prevented the food from sitting well.

  After some moments, Anna turned to Gerald. "I was scared, Gerald. Why would that man be like that?"

  He carefully considered his answer. "I'm afraid that the king is not known for his hospitality. He can be a cruel man, and the people that enforce his rule can be brutal. They’re not known for their manners, unfortunately. Men like Osferth like to abuse their power, to make other people look weak."

  "It's all because of the king," she stated with a resigned voice. "No one likes the king, all they ever do is fear him."

  He felt sorry for the young girl, she never really had to deal with her father. "I'm afraid that's true Anna, but that doesn't mean you have to be like him. You're free to make your own decisions in life."

  "I wish that were true," she said with a wisdom that belied her age.

  "It is true," he reiterated. "You can do anything you want."

  "Really?" she said putting her hand to her chin. She had seen Gerald do this on more than one occasion and now mimicked his mannerism.

  "Really!" he assured her.

  She looked straight at him as if to size him up. He kept his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help but feel that Anna was still measuring him somehow.

  "You've taught many soldiers before, even the baron’s daughter," she stated.

  "Yes, that's true," he agreed hesitantly, knowing something was else was on her mind.

  "Would you teach me to defend myself?" she asked. "I don't need to be a knight or anything, just the basics of keeping myself safe."

  He turned to look at her, to gauge the depth of her commitment. "Alright, I will," he finally acquiesced. "We can start tomorrow, but it will take time."

  She smiled and sat up straighter. "Yay," she celebrated, "I can't wait to start.”

  For the rest of the trip, Gerald listened with a smile on his face as Anna described how she would become a mighty warrior princess, vanquishing evil and bringing peace to the land.

  They started training the very next day. Gerald, carrying a large sack, took Anna out to a field, away from the view of the Hall. It was a warm day for autumn, and the sun had decided to come out, reflecting its glory on the leaves of red and yellow.

  Anna was eager to start, waiting impatiently while Gerald looked around. Satisfied that he had found the best place to begin, he drew his sword and presented the handle to Anna.

  "Here," he suggested, "try holding this. Get a feel for the weight of it."

  Anna complied, grasping the hilt, but when he let go of the other end, the heavy blade fell to the ground. She struggled to lift it, but her small body was just too light to hold the heavy weapon.

  "It's too heavy," she objected through gritted teeth, still determined to give it her best try.

  Gerald gently removed the sword from her hand. "One day, you'll find it easy enough to wield, but for now we need to build up a little bit of muscle. To start our training, I have two things for you."

  He reached into the sack and pulled forth a slim dagger in a leather scabbard. "This," he said, handing it to Anna, "will be your dagger. I’ll show you how to use it eventually, but first, you must learn to care for it. Each day you will need to clean it and oil it; I'll show you how. The second item I have is this." In a smooth motion, he reached into the sack and pulled forth a stick, about three feet long. "It’ll feel a bit awkward at first, but it's much lighter than the sword." He walked over and handed it to her, presenting it by holding it much like a staff.

  She took the stick in both hands and examined it. It was a pretty ordinary stick, though it has been trimmed to be smooth and there were no rough edges on it. "What do I do with this?" she seemed perplexed.

  "We're going to go on a walk, and you're going to swing it. Pretend it's a sword, try to take the top off the weeds, that sort of thing. Once you've gotten used to carrying the weight, we'll go through some basic drills.”

  "So you're going to teach me how to use a staff?" she questioned him.

  "No, you're going to learn to use it as a weight trainer. For you, it will be a mighty great-sword that you can use to slay dragons!" He was enjoying himself.

  She contemplated the stick, then picked the end that seemed easier to hold. She gripped it with both hands, one above the other and tried swinging it. It appeared clumsy in her hands, and Gerald knew it was an unnatural movement for her. She moved it left and right and tried to twirl it over her head, but she almost hit herself.

  Gerald, who had been standing back while she swung, moved closer. "Try to spread your hands apart a little; it will give you more control over the stick." He placed her left hand at the bottom of the stick, gripping it firmly and then moved her right hand up further so that there was about a hands-width between them. "Try it again," he said, "this time a little slower and more deliberate."

  She swung again and found it easier to control. The smile on her face told Gerald everything he needed to know.

  "Now, we are surrounded by the enemy and must fight to the last." He dramatically drew his sword, holding it up in front of him like a flag. "Death to the enemy!" he yelled and swung the weapon in an arc slicing through the long grass of the field.

  Anna joined in the fun. "To Victory!" she shouted and swung with all her might.

  Later, with the enemy soundly defeated, not a single thistle stood where shortly before there had been a veritable army of them.

  They sat down together, and he could see that Anna was already feeling the weight in her arms. "Such a victory shall be sung about by the bards for many years. Let us hasten back to the castle, my lady, for a victory toast!"

  "Onward Captain," she laughed as she continued, "lest the enemy return!"

  Gerald liked to make the training fun, so for the next few days, they carried on with attacking weeds. Anna's arms grew more comfortable swinging the stick, and after awhile they were not quite so sore in the evenings. After each day's activities, when Anna retired for the night, Gerald would return to his cottage where he would pull out his knife to continue making a wooden training sword for her to use. He presented this to her on the fourth day. He even had a rather crude scabbard that he had convinced Sophie to sew up for him.

  She strapped the new sword to her waist, and Gerald realized he must teach her another skill; walking without tripping on one’s scabbard, for she was still quite short and it had a tendency to hit the ground when she walked.

  By the second week, she was getting used to it, and it became a symbol of pride for her to walk around with her sword. They were heading out to the field again with Anna deep in thought. She looked at Gerald and then spoke after organizing her thoughts carefully. He could always tell when this was the case for she had a habit of furrowing her brows just before she turned to face him.

  "What weapon did you use during the wars?" she began.

  "Oh, I've fought with many. Axe, mace, longsword, hammer, pretty much everything."

  "But did you have a favourite?" she probed, a pensive look on her face.

  "Primarily a Mercerian longsword, but when I was in a shield wall, I would use a short sword or a long knife. A much better option for stabbing."

  "Aren't all longswords the same?" she questioned.

  "They're similar, but Mercerian longswords tend to be a little shorter with a slightly wider blade. In Westland, their swords are thinner but longer; a very elegant weapon."

  "What do the Norlanders use?" She was inquisitive today.

  He thought about this. "They use pretty much anything. They seem to favour axes when on foot, but their horsemen use swords."

  She pondered this for a moment before continuing, "What's it like to be in a battle?" she asked at last.

  He had to think on this. "Most of the time," he started, "you stand around waiting. The actual fighting doesn’t last long. I r
emember a stand-up battle we had near the river once."

  "What's a stand-up battle?" Anna seemed to have a question prepared for each of his answers.

  "More of a formal battle, where both sides form up before the fight. Sometimes conflicts happen when two armies blunder into each other, but occasionally both sides are ready to fight, and we refer to those as a stand-up battle."

  "Do they happen very often?" she continued her interrogation.

  "No, it takes some skill to move an army into a position where the enemy has to fight, and we spent most of our time chasing raiders. We chased them once to the river, but it turned out to be a trap. They were waiting for us with their troops already deployed."

  "Did you fight?"

  "Oh yes. The baron deployed the men with the footmen in the middle and archers on the flanks. He kept his knights in reserve for the final push. I can still remember the cold. It was an early winter, and the frost was forming on our armour. Chainmail can get very cold, and we weren't moving right away. It was a relief when the baron ordered us forward, I can tell you. I can still hear our feet crunching the icy snow as we strode forward. I was a sergeant then. My job was to keep the line straight as they advanced. The line moved forward while the archers fired from the flanks. The enemy was using their shields to protect themselves from the arrows, so they were holding them over their heads. When the arrows stopped, they suddenly realized we were coming."

  The story entranced Anna. "What happened next?"

  "I ordered the men into a run, not a full out run, mind you, more of a jog. We hit them before they could properly form a shield wall and punched right through their line."

  "Did you kill them all?" she prompted.

  "No, when a line is broken, the army generally falls apart. Their leaders in the back tend to panic, and the whole command breaks apart. They broke and ran for the river, and we let them go."

  "What do you mean you let them go? Why would you do that?" she said, surprised.

  "Our knights moved in and herded them using the flats of their swords, but not before we'd managed to capture their leader."

  "And you brought back the prisoners in triumph!" she exclaimed.

  "No, actually, the baron made them promise never to invade Merceria again, and then let them go on their honour."

  She looked dumbstruck. She had not expected this. "But why didn't you kill them?"

  "Killing them," he continued, "would only have made the other survivors thirst for vengeance. Fitz had the right idea; they didn't trouble us for years after that."

  "But the Northern Wars continue," she prompted.

  "Yes, but those leaders and their men were never seen again. I learned a valuable lesson that day. There's more to being a great leader than just fighting well; you have to apply the mind and the heart to it."

  She took her time thinking about this before speaking again, "I think I understand. War is something to be avoided if at all possible, isn't it?"

  He was surprised by her easy acceptance of the logic. "Yes, war is the last thing to have, and only when all other avenues have been exhausted."

  "There are all sorts of books in the library about war, and fighting and glory and such, but none of them talk about war like you do."

  He looked at her in earnest. "Of course not, those books weren't written by people who were there! You'd be surprised, I think, to talk to real soldiers. Perhaps one day you'll meet the baron, and he can tell you."

  "Do you think that I should learn other weapons as you did? Should I know how to use an axe, spear or mace?"

  "Well," he said after some thought, "that would be difficult since we don't have those weapons here."

  "We could order some from Wincaster," she said. “You give me the name of an armourer in the Capital, and I'll send some coins and have them delivered here."

  "And how would we get the coins for them?" Gerald asked.

  It was her turn to smile. "That's easy; there's plenty of coins in the strongbox. I've been looking over the books. Uxley Hall has a large budget, and we're only using a tiny part of it."

  Now it was Gerald’s turn to be surprised again. "You've been going over the books?"

  "Yes, I've been taking care of the estate’s ledgers, and then I get Hanson to sign the letters going to the Palace."

  He should have known that this small child would see it as her duty to keep her home running efficiently. It wouldn't be the last time he was surprised by her, but it was certainly one of the more interesting things he learned.

  "All right," he said at last, "let's get to the clerk’s room and write up a letter and see what it gets us. With luck, we'll hear back in about a month."

  They headed off to the Hall to draft their strange request. Gerald wasn’t sure if it would work, but since coming to Uxley, he had learned at least one thing; strange was the new normal.

  Chapter 19

  Fitz

  Autumn 957 MC

  EVERY year, just before winter set in, King Andred IV liked to call all his nobles to court. It was not that there was anything important to discuss, but he wanted to wield his power by having them obey the summons, bringing him a feeling of absolute power.

  It was for this reason that Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, Baron of Bodden, found himself following Marshal-General Roland Valmar as he inspected the troops on the parade square behind the Palace. The king, in his infinite wisdom, had not seen fit to send additional troops to Bodden, despite the baron’s repeated requests, but had insisted that he follow the marshal-general on his monthly inspection to see the calibre of the forces that the kingdom boasted.

  As he followed along behind the marshal-general, he was appalled at the poor state of the soldiers. It was clear that Valmar did not place great reliance on his infantry, for they were poorly turned out; weapons were dull or unused, and chainmail was patched in seemingly random places. Fitz didn't care much what a soldier looked like as long as he could fight, but rusty mail and dull weapons did not bode well for the troop’s morale. The marshal-general, for the most part, ignored the men lined up in two ranks but spent great effort to be cordial to the officers, whose well-bred backgrounds were quite evident. The only exception was the Wincaster Bowmen. These troops, known as 'The Greens' for their distinctly coloured surcoat, were led by Captain Harold Wainwright, a commoner, as was usual for all missile troops. Wainwright’s men looked battle-hardened and lethal and yet, the marshal did not even deign to talk to their captain. Fitz fell back from the group as they passed, allowing him to speak with the captain.

  Captain Wainwright looked surprised. He was used to being ignored.

  "An exemplary body of men, Captain," exclaimed Fitz.

  "Thank you, my lord," Wainwright responded professionally.

  "How long have you been in Wincaster?"

  "Only six months my lord," he replied, once again in a very neutral tone.

  "And where were you before that?" Fitz asked. "Your men looked hardened."

  The captain, still standing stiffly at attention looked directly at the baron. "We were in Mattingly, my lord. We recruit from the villages of Mattingly and Wickfield, with a few Hawksburg men thrown in."

  The baron leaned in conspiratorially to talk in a lower voice, "Keep them the way you have them, Captain. Companies in the capital tend to get lazy and lose their edge. I know Valmar doesn't give you much credit, but the greens are an important part of a combined army, remember that. Good work, keep it up."

  "Aye, my lord," the captain replied, stiffening his shoulders.

  Fitz finished with the conversation, increased his pace to catch up to the marshal-general, who had now reached the last unit, the knights. These elitist troops were the kingdom’s pride and joy and, Fitz had to confess, they made an impressive show. They were the heavy troops of the realm; glittering plates of steel attached to their chainmail which had been polished to a high degree. They were impressive to look at, but Fitz knew that most of them were useless. They were all nobles, born to an elite
ruling class, and very few could take orders correctly. He had carefully trained the few knights he had in Bodden, breaking them of their old habits, but this bunch seemingly considered their appearance more important than anything else. They had the most expensive horses, impressive to see, but as somewhat of an expert in horseflesh, Fitz knew they would not have the stamina for a campaign. No, these were parade troops. The only saving grace was the fact that no other kingdom in the land had such a contingent, and even the Norlanders had been quiet of late. He fervently hoped that things would stay that way for some time and that these men would not have to ride into battle.

  The marshal-general finished his inspection, having spoken to a number of the knights in person. He turned to Fitz and asked, "Well, what do you think baron? Do they impress you?"

  The baron replied diplomatically, "They are quite a sight, marshal-general, quite a sight indeed."

  This seemed to placate the marshal who smiled. "Indeed, they are," he agreed. "Come, let us return to the Palace for some refreshments." Without waiting for a reply, he strode back toward the Palace. Fitz followed, but as he approached the Palace, he saw Lord Brandon come out of the building and raise a hand to get his attention.

  "I will be with you in a moment, marshal-general," said Fitz, "I just need to take care of something first."

  "Don't be long or all the wine will be gone!" Valmar laughed as he spoke, disappearing into the Palace.

  Lord Robert walked over to the baron. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he said, a slightly worried look on his face.

  "Not at all Robert, I've always got time for you. Something important?" Fitz asked.

  "Not so much important," Lord Robert continued, "as puzzling.”

  "You have me intrigued," the baron responded. “Let’s talk as we walk; I need to change. Do you mind?"

  "No, not at all Richard. You remember that business with Uxley I told you about?"

  "Yes," replied Fitz, "I remember it well. I sent a letter to the estate. Did anything ever come of it?"